All These Words
by jojospn
Summary: A companion piece to "Let Me Go". Warning, character death. As per request. Rated T


**A/N: This is for Carrie, who left a lovely review of my story **_**Let Me Go**_** and requested a companion piece from Sam's POV. I hope you enjoy it! A huge thank you to all who have supported me through my adventures in fanfic, I am beyond grateful. :D And as always, I don't own **_**Supernatural,**_** just borrowing the boys. Title of story and lyrics from Metallica's "Nothing Else Matters". All rights reserved.**

**All These Words**

Here I stand, in the room where only two weeks earlier, I had uttered those words: words beyond hurtful to my older brother, shattered him to his very core. I had seen my brother's face, twisted in some horrible agony, when he had heard that his beloved older brother would have let him die, believed that I would just forget him, like an insignificant insect. It hurts me that he thinks that little of himself.

I meant every word that I had said that night. Still do. But he never understood exactly what I meant. That I would have respected his wishes if he had chosen to die, to let me move on with my life. It was what I had meant to say that fateful night, before he stormed out of the bunker in a wave of emotion. God, I had been meaning to call him, to set the record straight. But that damned Winchester pride wasn't only inherited by my older brother. Truth be told, I _wanted_ him to hurt. To think of how selfish it was of Dean to invade my mind, my soul, with that goddamned rogue angel, even if his intentions were pure. Let him blow off steam for a while, and in a day or so he'd eventually come back. He did for me all those years ago when I'd been hooked on demon blood. Why would this time be any different?

That phone call never came. Sure, Dean called Cas every now and then (to check up on me, I'm sure) but he'd never stayed on the line long enough to even have a chat with his best friend. I'm not mad anymore. God, I wasn't mad after the first few days. Hurt, yes, but not angry at my older brother. I'm a lot of things, but not a hypocrite. At least, I wasn't before now.

The night is still fresh in my mind, when Cas suddenly zapped in the bunker, this horrible, broken look on his face. I remember thinking how he looked like one who grieved, and I knew something was wrong. The angel didn't even have to say anything. I knew. All those words I had said to my brother, those I had never gotten the chance to say, ran trough my mind as I felt my knees give way beneath me. But now, it's too late. Dean died thinking that I hated him, that I didn't care. He died alone. God help me, my big brother died alone.

Cas was there, holding me in that awkward way of his, as I cried in his arms, calling his name over and over again. "I'm sorry, Dean, I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry." The angel stood there, looking uncomfortable as always, but blinking back his own tears as he patted me on the back, muttering awkward reassurances, knowing that they were lies, no doubt remembering that night four years earlier in Detroit. For several minutes he let my cry, sobbing against that damned trench coat, until finally he left, to "take care of arrangements". I was glad to see him leave, truth be told. I needed to be alone, with my brother.

And now, here I am, in the room where all those words had been spoken. Dean lies on the bed, cold, lifeless, and for a moment I think of how Dean must have felt in Cold Oak all those years ago, when _I_ was the one lying dead. He's oh so still, and I feel warm tears pool beneath hazel eyes; I don't bother tying to wipe them away.

"Never opened myself this way." I find myself singing, one of Dean's Metallica songs before I even realize. My voice cracks and I struggle to keep my composure as I stand by his bed, in the room he had been so excited to have when we had first moved into the bunker. "Life is ours, we live it our way. All these words I just don't say..."

And I lose it, my legs giving way beneath me. I sit there, mourning the loss of my brother, of the chances I had to just talk with him, to let go of my weariness and fear, to just goddamn tell him I _love_ him. And I can't now. I can save him. I _want _to, _need _to. And yet, those words that I had said two weeks earlier haunt me, words Cas had confided in me shortly before he left to retrieve my brother's body.

_Let it go._

He wanted to die. To give up. Is it because of me? Did I hurt him so badly that he just wanted to let go of it all? This is my fault, I killed my brother, my rock, my best friend. _Oh God..._

I pick up my brother's body, oh so still in my arms, rigour mortis by now setting into a body that was only twenty-four hours ago so full of life, cradle him against my chest. And I cry, salty tears splashing gently against pale skin. I can bring, call Cas to revive my big brother with just a touch. But I won't. Because it's not what he wanted. Those words I had spoken, back to haunt me, leaving such a vile, bitter taste in my mouth. I sit there for hours, holding my brother close, until finally I hear the flutter of wings behind me. I don't even have to turn around to know the look Cas is giving me; it's time. With a sigh, I get up, picking up my brother's body. There is still much to do, preparations for a hunter's funeral, a cross to place in the backyard. Slowly, I stand and follow Cas out of the room.


End file.
